Delver Magic Book I: Sanctum's Breach

by Jeff Inlo

  Chapter 19

  "What's your business here?" Surliness and suspicion filled the guard’s voice. He stood in front of Ryson, menacingly blocking passage of the main road into Burbon. He was only slightly taller than the delver, but much thicker. The density of his biceps, forearms and wrists gave his arms a short and stubby appearance, a dimension that contrasted sharply with the long, narrow spear held tightly in his hand. His nose was large, puffy, and bent slightly to one side, the obvious result of one too many breaks. His eyes narrowed as he glared, but he could not hide the blood shot corners.

  The guard’s position of challenge did more to provoke the delver than frighten him. Ryson wanted to know why he was being questioned. There had been no guards at this post during his first trip into Burbon back when he was just investigating damage done by the quake. He didn't appreciate the guard’s tone or the disapproving stare. And he didn't like having his passage blocked. No delver would. Impeding his freedom of passage was like removing his right to think. As to the guard’s hulking physique, such attributes meant little to a delver. Ryson could run circles around him, turn him into a plodding buffoon grasping at air if he so desired.

  As Ryson was about to protest, probably vehemently, he noted other guards closing upon him. He immediately sensed their fear and mistrust. Two joined the first guard's side and formed a semicircle around him. Three others took strategic positions farther back and along the side of the road. They all appeared weary as well as suspicious, and they all carried long sharp spears that they were prepared to use.

  The jagged edges glistened of polished metal, but the points were smudged with a damp greasy substance. Ryson had heard of dreadful wars where men carried spears greased at the point with tar coated poisons. These guards were obviously also familiar with such tactics, for there was no other reason to grease a spear tip if not to hold poison fast to its razor sharp blade.

  He didn't believe the guards were skilled enough to hit him, but one might just get lucky. In truth, the odds against such a strike were astronomical. With a poison tipped spear, however, the slightest graze against his skin might be fatal.

  He felt the pull of the Sword of Decree at his side. It reminded him not of the existence of a weapon so close to his hand but of its importance as stated by Mappel. It also reminded him of what was still left to accomplish. His mission was near complete. He needed only to return the sword to the elder elf, a deed he could complete with near mindless ease. Such a revelation narrowed his options. It would be foolish to take even the smallest risk at this point, so he bit down on his anger and swallowed it like loose spit. He appeared to cooperate, giving a smile rather than a sneer. He rubbed his hands together then clasped them up by his chest, keeping them well away from the hilt of the sword.

  "My name's Ryson Acumen. I was here several days ago. I'm from Connel. I was sent to check on the damage done by the quake and to see if you needed any assistance from our town. Maybe you remember me?"

  "I don't." The guard continued to glower. "That explains what you were doing here then. It doesn't tell me what you want now."

  Ryson raised an eyebrow. "Now? Now, I'm back to see how things are going. I spoke to your Mayor Stevens last time, a tall thin man, brown hair, gray around the edges. I wanted to check with him again, make sure that he received everything he needed."

  Ryson had hoped if he described the mayor it might reduce the strain still apparent in the guard's tight jaw. It did not. If anything, the guard's scowl deepened.

  "The mayor's no longer in charge here. The captain of the guard is." The guard spoke bluntly as if he didn't care how his statement sounded. "If that's the extent of your business, you may as well head back to Connel right now."

  The last was given in the clear tone of an order.

  Ryson held up his hand asking for another moment. This turn of events immediately interested the delver. He wondered what might have transpired to cause such an event as the guard taking control of the town. Rather than turn away and make an immediate heading toward Connel, Ryson persisted with his hopes to gain entry into Burbon. "I am also here to take a rest from my travels. I've been as far as Pinesway these past few days."

  Eager curiosity filled the face of the guard to Ryson's left. He could not keep himself from interrupting.

  "You've been to Pinesway? What is the news there?"

  The head guard spoke sternly and rebuked his subordinate. "Keep it quiet. That's not our concern."

  "But I have a brother stationed there."

  "It's all right," Ryson stated quietly. He was carefully piecing together the most obvious of the clues. He turned them into an image of what he was facing and how he might turn the encounter to his advantage. The existence of guards at the town's main road, as well as their poisoned tips spears, indicated they were at least slightly aware of the changes taking place around them. Little else would justify the unseating of the mayor and the need for stationed guards.

  By their own faces, he was certain they must have experienced something of the madness first hand. Their bloodshot eyes and obvious weariness indicated little sleep over the past two or three days. Perhaps, mountain shags or goblins had ransacked part of their town, or perhaps they were hunting a vampire or a river rogue. It was difficult to distinguish which might have installed their apprehension to wayward travelers, but it was a safe bet it was connected to the magic.

  Ryson decided to deal with their anxieties directly, although somewhat discreetly, and he lowered his voice to a whisper. "I understand your caution. Like I said, I've been traveling these past few days. I've seen many strange things. Things I can't understand, or even wish to."

  "What is it you saw?" the head guard demanded sternly, more interested in the stranger's sightings than in the state of Pinesway.

  Ryson could not as of yet determine what exactly had the guards, the whole town, so unnerved. Thus, he did not wish to speak in detail. If the guards had a run-in with shags, they might interpret the description of the undead as the ramblings of a lunatic. He played out his hand cautiously, acting as if speaking too much might bring a return of the insanity. "I really don't like to talk about it. I even wonder about my own eyes, hoped that it was the fading sun playing tricks on me. But whatever it was, it left me wanting to return to the safety of a town as soon as possible."

  The head guard continued to size up the delver. He frowned, unsatisfied with Ryson's response.

  Ryson sensed his growing impatience. He spoke with as much detail as possible without alluding to one particular monster. "What I saw, I saw in the shadows. It did not appear human. It left me cold and I do not like to talk about it." He felt that would suffice whether the town suffered at the hands of the goblins, the shags or any other dark creature. He then turned his attention to the guard with a brother in Pinesway. "I can assure you, however, that when I left Pinesway, it remained intact with the townspeople still in charge. There was no sign of any damage other than the quake, and I heard nothing of casualties to the town guard."

  The news appeared to settle all of the guards, but they still made no sign of allowing Ryson to pass. He decided to press the issue.

  "I've told you all I know, even things I didn't wish to. For now, I hope you will let me visit one of your fine taverns. I was hoping to obtain an ale and some food before returning to Connel. Surely, you would not deny me that. I only hope to add to the pockets of your own merchants; yours as well for keeping this town, and myself for that matter, safe while I'm here." He carefully pulled coins from his right front pocket. He did so slowly, allowing the guards to watch his every move. He handed gold to the guard in his path, silver to those on his sides. He even flipped coppers to the guards in the back.

  "Hopefully, you'll see that as my thanks for keeping this town safe. I will eat easier and I'll leave as soon as I have eaten."

  The guard in front of him looked at the coin in his hand. His face softened. "Stay the night. It's not friends from Connel that w
orries us," he said surprisingly. "If you wish to return to Connel, you can leave in the morning. That way you'll reach it before night falls. No sense in traveling at night if you don't have to."

  Ryson was about to reveal that he was a delver and his speed would allow him to reach Connel before this day ended. Before he muttered a single word, though, he changed his mind. He wasn't certain how they would react. He had come across many humans that mistrusted delvers. The guards were somewhat friendly to him at this juncture. Right now, he was nothing more than a traveler from Connel, not a delver out poking around. No sense in changing that, and perhaps invoking a change of heart as well.

  "Very well then, thank you. I need the rest."

  Ryson had no real intention of resting. Once he obtained entry into Burbon, he would look around with a curious eye, try and determine the problems which led to stationing guards on the roads and relieving the mayor of his duty. Before, he could take a step, however, the head guard addressed him with more than a hint of authority, as if a captain speaking to a private.

  "I suggest you keep that handy." The guard nodded to the jeweled handled sword at Ryson's side. "The nights have gotten pretty strange around here. We're doing the best we can, but we can always use extra help. If we call for you, we'll expect you to lend a hand."

  "Certainly." It now became clear why the guard was allowing Ryson to enter as well as stay the night. He was as anxious as the others, worried that their numbers were too small to handle whatever it was they faced. He saw Ryson as another man to be drafted into his army.

  "Don't disappoint us," he said sternly. "And don't go bothering the captain about anything. He has enough to worry about. Remember, the mayor's gone. If you had any business with him, it's finished now."

  "Understood," Ryson said plainly.

  He stepped around the head guard, who did not move, and walked deliberately but slowly toward the collection of buildings and houses which made up the heart of Burbon. He felt their eyes on his back, but he did not turn. He stepped as if nothing more than the burdens of travel wore upon his shoulders. He heard one of the guards mutter, but could not make out the words. He sensed another following, but again he showed no concern or even acknowledgment. The guard would remain far behind, but within view to see which inn Ryson would select. It seemed obvious they were intent on knowing where he would be if and when they wanted him to lend a hand.

  He forced the thought of the follower from his mind. He concentrated on the town itself. The roads formed neat rows of parallel and perpendicular lines. Some were comprised of stone, some of pitch, and some only of dirt. Everything was straight and organized, though, and he could find not a single curve in any of the streets or alleys.

  The buildings matched the symmetry of the roads they lined. Whether private home or merchant shop, inn or church, every structure stood evenly spaced apart and an equal distance from the road. Signs were simple and to the point. Nothing lavish stood apart from the rest. Even the noisiest tavern appeared to conform to the building standards of every other surrounding structure. Stone walks and paths marked direct lanes to doors or to neighboring properties. Each corner was marked with a lamp post. Glass covered lamps remained dormant in the afternoon sun. Ryson bet they were lit at the same time by the same person every evening. He had seen these sights before during his first trip to Burbon, but never really noticed the regimented consistency, the hard-lined conformity.

  "It's no wonder the guard took over," Ryson muttered to himself as he passed buildings which now all melded together. "They like things steady here. I wonder how they're going to react to the return of the magic."

  "Excuse me?" A passerby overheard him and shot a questioning glance. He looked to be nothing more than a merchant carrying his receipts to the bank, but he now wore an expression of dissatisfaction.

  Ryson nodded his head in acknowledgment of the newcomer. He spoke with calm assurance. "Good day, sir. I'm looking for a tavern or an inn. I'm hoping to find one with a show, music, magic, anything. It's been a hard day. I could stand with a little humor. Anything, you can recommend?"

  The look of dissatisfaction turned to confusion. The merchant thought he heard the stranger clearly speak of the return of magic, but now he was not so sure. He conceded he might have misunderstood, but made no apology. "The Borderline has a string quartet. Down the block." He pointed then turned quickly. He obviously wanted nothing more to do with the stranger.

  "Thank you," Ryson said to the merchant's back. When he was clear of being overheard, he again spoke only to himself, this time in a whisper. "I won't allow that to happen again."

  Out of the corner of his eye, he picked up the guard which continued to follow him. "I might as well put an end to this, too."

  Ryson picked up his pace as if the merchant's directions assisted him on his way. Brisk steps carried him quickly to the front of the Borderline Inn. Soft, but uplifting music wafted from the open front window. His ears tuned to it quickly.

  "Two guitars, a cello, and a double bass," he stated with confidence as he walked through the door.

  The sight of the quartet in the far corner confirmed what his ears already told him. Four musicians worked effortlessly on the instruments Ryson named before entering. They played by memory, for no sheets of music appeared before them. Ryson guessed all but one of the guitar players had been together for many years. Their hands flowed over their instruments with nary a glance from one to another. Only the second guitar watched the others for cues in tempo. The other three played as if guided by the same hand, an ability which reminded the delver of the algors.

  The current musical selection filled the room with comforting ease. It blessed the air with inspiration, no where near as gay as a march, but uplifting enough for all to feel they could face their troubles, or at least forget them. Such melodies would continue throughout the afternoon and into the evening. Not a single song of melancholy would escape these instruments on this day.

  The tavern was about one third full. A whisper of conversation hung in the air, but for the most part, the patrons remained quiet. Their intention was clearly upon allowing the cheerful music to wash the anxiety from their minds.

  Ryson moved to a small table roughly four steps from a long bar. A young female barkeep gave him a smile from behind it. He nodded and returned the smile. Rather than take the seat at the table, he moved to the bar.

  She threw a towel over her arm as he placed himself upon a stool. When he carefully moved the end of the sheathed sword to keep it from striking the bar, she appeared even more grateful for his appearance. She stepped up to his place and quickly wiped the bar surface with the towel before replacing it over her arm.

  "What would you like?" her eyes grabbed his. Medium length black hair hung freely about her shoulders. Bangs covered her forehead and kept attention on her hazel eyes.

  "I'll have an ale please."

  "Dark or light?"

  "I think I'll stick with light," he grinned.

  She bit her lip gently, still grinning, and nodded. She whisked about gracefully. With fluid movements, a tall glass was soon leaning under a flowing tap. With a rap of her elbow on the lever, the flow ceased just as the light golden liquid reached the rim. She placed it in front of him with another smile.

  By then, Ryson had a gold coin in his hand. He slid it toward her. "That's for you, not for the ale. I'd like to run a tab for that. I think I'm going to be here a while."

  "Certainly," the barmaid was obviously happy with this news.

  "Do you have any stew?"

  "Vegetable. Potatoes, carrots, celery and onions."

  "That'll be fine. I also need a room. Who would I see about that?"

  "I can take care of that. There are plenty of them available. I'll have a key and number for you before you're done with your supper."

  "Great. Thank you ... uh ..." He paused, waiting for her to reveal her name without him having to ask. She did not hesitate.

>   "Linda."

  "Thank you Linda. I'm Ryson, Ryson Acumen." He held out his hand which she took with a gentle shake.

  "Nice to meet you." She paused, seemed to hesitate. She wanted to speak but she held her tongue.

  Ryson picked it up immediately. "What would you like to know?" His tone contained warmth and invited her to speak freely.

  "I couldn't help notice your sword. Are you here to help the guard?"

  "Actually, I was here to see how you were all recovering from the quake. But it seems as if that's old news and the least of all our problems." His expression was a knowing one, one which indicated he was aware of the madness which was now creeping into this border town. "I spoke with the guards, though, and they mentioned they might need all the help they can get. I didn't protest."

  The smile lingered on her lips. "So you will help?"

  "I'll help as long as I'm here."

  "How long might that be?" Her eyes widened with hope and curiosity.

  "For today and this evening. I have to return to Connel tomorrow morning."

  The smile disappeared, and the delver was sad to see it go. She sighed and turned to leave. "I'll get you your stew and see about your room then."

  For some reason he felt the need to explain, the need to bring back the smile to her face. She had shown him a moment of kindness. He did not want to accept that kindness under false pretenses, did not care to perpetuate the secrecy he had kept upon entering her town. He needed to open up to her, to tell her more than he had told the guard. He reached out with delver swiftness and gently took her arm just above the wrist.

  She looked back at him with surprise, but not with aversion. She made no attempt to remove his hand. She only waited for an explanation.

  "Before you go and get me that room," he whispered, "there's something I should tell you which I didn't tell the guards." He looked about before continuing to ensure no one was paying attention to them. No one was. "I'm a delver."

  She looked at him with a bewildered expression, as if the statement meant nothing to her.

  He continued to explain. "I'm full bred. I've been through the forests, the desert, and the hills west of here. I've seen some things which I never would have expected to see in my life."

  The smile didn't quite return, but something akin to compassion filled her eyes and her expression. "We've all seen or heard strange things lately. As for you being a delver, that means little here, at least to most of us. It's not the delvers we're worried about."

  "What is it you're worried about?" he continued whispering, but his tone contained the seriousness of his intentions. "I've seen different things in the past few days, things that almost defy explanation. I know your town must be facing something of that sort, but I don't know what."

  It was Linda's turn to see if anyone was watching them. She noticed a man at the end of the bar finishing a brandy. He looked up and spotted her. He waved for another round.

  "I'll be right back." She slid her arm away from his, almost reluctantly, and tended to the patron. She returned quickly.

  "I don't know what it is you've seen," she began, "but I know what I have." She hesitated, as if she knew he would not believe what she was about to say. She spoke of it regardless. "Little creatures, little monsters with crossbows. I saw them myself. They came into town just after sunset. It was still just light enough to see them. They came in and attacked the general store at the northern edge of town. They took all the food and weapons they could lay their hands on. No one was ready for them. They were in and gone in an instant. But a lot of us saw them. At first the mayor didn't believe the story, said it was a hoax. They came back again the next night. The captain of the guard took over after that. We've seen them again but they ran from the guards."

  "Goblins," Ryson stated simply.

  "Excuse me?"

  "They're called goblins." He searched for better words, words to help her understand, but none existed. He considered the best way for him to explain his knowledge. "You don't have a Church of Godson here, do you?"

  She shook her head.

  It did not surprise Ryson. A town like this one, a town of order, wouldn't have much patience for followers of Godson. He tried to explain the best he could without a familiar reference point.

  "The legends, the Book of Godson, they talk about creatures that used to walk the land. The goblins are one of those creatures. Apparently, they're back."

  "You can't be serious?"

  Ryson took no offense. He spoke calmly and rationally and pointed out the underlying frankness of the situation. "Are you serious about what you saw? Little creatures with crossbows? I can describe them for you as well. They had puffy swollen faces and large eyes. They wore breastplates of some kind of armor. They were mostly bald but had wisps of hair."

  "You've seen them, too."

  "They're goblins," he repeated patiently. "And I've seen them in Dark Spruce Forest."

  "Why are they here?" Linda demanded pleadingly.

  Ryson considered telling her of his meeting with the elves and of the sphere. He wished to continue the pure openness of the conversation. These fleeting moments had a cleansing effect upon his mind and his soul, as if finally speaking the details of his journey was proof enough they truly occurred.

  He stopped himself, however, and did not speak of the sphere. It was not time, not yet. This poor woman, the entire town for that matter, was not prepared for such sudden changes. If the goblins had sent them into turmoil, what would knowledge of the sphere do for them?

  He spoke honestly, but as he refrained from telling the guards of his heritage, he stopped short of mentioning the sphere of Ingar. "I assume they're here to steal supplies from your town. They appeared disorganized when I stumbled upon them in the forest. I know that doesn't tell you much but I have as many questions as you do. Right now, I'm just trying to make it through one mystery at a time. I know now that I have to return to Connel tomorrow. One of the oldest Godson churches is there. Hopefully, I'll find out more when I get there."

  He stopped and waited. She seemed to want to ask more questions, but could not find how to pose them. He decided to place her attention back on himself and away from the goblins. "Anyway, I thought you should know that I'm a delver and what I've been through before you decided to get me a room. If you want, I'll leave now."

  "No, I want you to stay," she responded firmly. Her eyes revealed a strength that even surpassed her tone. "I'll get you your stew. We do need all the help we can get, even if it’s just for one night."

  Ryson bid her to stay for one more moment. "I have to ask you one more favor. Keep what I've said between the two of us. I don't want the guards to think I was lying to them. I just didn't know how they would react to me being a delver. I would also rather not have to answer questions about goblins just yet. I need to find out more for myself. I really don't have all the answers."

  The smile finally returned fully to Linda's lips. It made it clear to Ryson that he could trust her. "I won't tell anyone. I know a little about delvers. They want to know everything they can about just about everything. Others know that, too. If word gets out, the captain may question you. It wouldn't be bad, but it might delay you. I doubt that would help you."

  "You understand the situation very well," he complimented. "Time may or may not be important. I'm not sure, but I do get a little anxious when someone holds me up."

  "I understand that, too." Her smile grew. "With that thought, let me get you that stew."

  The stew was hot and fresh. The vegetables were probably up from the south where they were already harvesting the first rewards from an early planting. Only some of the potatoes tasted as if they were taken from a long season of cold storage. The bowl went down quick and he asked for a second with a slice of fresh bread.

  The rest of that afternoon was spent in casual conversation with Linda, listening to the news from those who entered, or simply listening to the music. Ryson rea
lized that he direly needed this moment of calm, far more than he needed sleep in fact. He had slept on his journey, but he never truly relaxed. Every moment was spent on guard. In this pleasant inn, he could finally afford to drop that guard. His tensed muscles eased slowly but surely. The ever present watchfulness evaporated, though not easily and not at first.

  The first few times the door swung open, it jerked at his attention. He almost expected to see a band of goblins or a mountain shag barge inward, but only tired townsfolk stepped into the room. As time passed, the opening of the door would not even call for his glance.

  He allowed his weight to sink into the soft cushions of the stool. His arms rested upon the bar top. He gladly told Linda stories of his adventures, but not the most recent. He kept his stories to the times before the quake, before everything had changed. He told her of exploring the hills northeast of Connel, the caves he found. She listened with genuine interest and asked many questions of why he did what he did.

  They kept the conversation between themselves. For the most part, the other patrons let them be, except for when their glasses ran dry. Most knew Linda and were pleased to see her speaking with a young man. They also spied Ryson's sword. They were pleased to see that as well. The townsfolk carried no arms themselves for that was the job of the guard in this disciplined town. But they were all apparently aware of the raids and were relieved to see someone in their midst who appeared able to protect them.

  Night crept across the town. More lamps and a fire in the stone hearth were lit. More and more people filled into the room. Obviously, they didn't like being alone the darker it became. Soon, even the free space offered to Ryson was needed, and he and Linda had to give up their privacy. They would no longer talk about delvers or explorations. They barely talked at all for Linda was now almost constantly busy, even with the help of newly arrived serving maids and lads.

  She was able to manage one small moment to whisper a request of her own to Ryson. "I may not get a chance to talk to you again before you leave tomorrow, but I'd like to ask something of you. After you go to Connel and find out what you can, I have a favor. When you've learned all you can, come back here and tell me what's really going on. I know it may take you a while, I don't expect you to be back in a day or maybe even a season, but I would like you to come back. I'll still be here. And I'll want to know what you found out."

  "Agreed," Ryson said with a smile of his own.

  She brushed his arm and expressed her gratitude with a smile that Ryson was now accustomed. She walked away reluctantly to the calls of patrons at the other end of the bar.

  Ryson watched her move away for only a moment, before his attention was ripped from the barmaid with the ringing alarm of his own instincts. He jerked his head upward, sat erect in his chair lifting his ear to the highest point. He directed it toward the front of the inn. He focused his concentration on ignoring the din of the patrons around him and picking up every sound beyond the walls.

  "Godson!" he muttered almost angrily.

  The rest of the patrons went about their business. The talk was louder now, forcing the musicians to increase their own volume. All attention was on the business of the room. No one looked to the doors or to the windows. Their troubles were forgotten as they were together. Drinking, eating and speaking with friends and neighbors, they forced the recent misfortunes from their forethought.

  Ryson maintained his position for a moment more. His eyes bore a hole through the door. His ears continued to sift through the clamor to pick out every vibration which warned him of danger. With a deep breath, he leapt from his stool.

  Only a few noticed him at first, but all eyes were on him when he demanded the musicians cease their playing. As they conceded and the crowd grew to a silence, the reasons for his actions were now clear to all. The attention of every patron and every servant flew from Ryson to the door and windows.

  Angry shouts rang out in the streets. They came from every direction, but thankfully, a distance from the front of the inn they occupied. The closest sounded many blocks away. Shuffling, running feet echoed in the distance. Orders of command echoed through otherwise silent streets, silent until a distant response brought a shiver to them all. Guttural voices answered in concert to the shouts of the guards. They carried contempt in tone and revealed great numbers.

  Ryson recognized the voices and matched it to that of the goblins found at the base of Sanctum Mountain. They were attacking en masse, using the dark to their advantage. Their shouts lasted for but a moment, a defiant challenge for the guards to meet them. Beyond that, they would make no further calls to reveal their position.

  Ryson considered what he learned of the goblins from his talks with Lief Woodson. If the elf's words were true, and Ryson had no reason to doubt them, the goblins would slaughter all they could lay their hands upon. The delver turned his attention back to the crowd within the Borderline Inn. He spoke with an iron will.

  "Listen to me all of you. Stay calm and you will survive this night. Panic and you won't." He spoke clearly but quickly. "I'm going out there to see what I can do, only you can help protect your safety. Dim the lamps but get that fire burning hot."

  No one questioned his authority. The sword at his side punctuated his command, and his orders were carried out without challenge. Linda threw three heavy logs on the fire as the other servants and a few patrons either extinguished or lowered the flames within the lamps. The corners of the room grew dark as the blazing fire was now the only true source of bright light.

  Ryson continued giving orders. He pointed to three large men he presumed to be farmers sitting at the bar. "You three. Break at least three dozen legs off of those bar stools. Wrap the ends tightly with rags dipped in oil from the lamps. They'll make good torches. The rest of you move either behind or around the bar. Stay away from the windows and doors."

  Ryson stepped aggressively to the door. His hand was now firmly wrapped about the hilt of his sword but he kept it sheathed. He opened the door a crack and gazed carefully outside. With sudden swiftness, he threw open the door. His arm left the door knob and whisked outside. In a blur, he had hold of a confused, frightened woman and yanked her inside.

  "It's alright," he comforted her as he directed her toward the others inside and shut the door behind her.

  As he continued with his ear pressed upon the door and an eye upon a neighboring window, every person within the tavern followed his instructions. Soon the torches were constructed and the people were huddled in the center of the room.

  Ryson looked back to them and gave his final commands. "Light two of the torches. Keep the rest ready by the fire. I want you two men at the door with the two lit torches. When the rags start to disintegrate, throw them back in the fire and light two more. Keep someone near each window but stay to the side and don't make a target of yourself. And watch for breaking glass. If something tries to get in, call for a torch and burn it. Keep the front door closed but unlocked. If you see one of your own running through the streets, get them inside quick. If something else tries to get in, put a torch in its face. You'll know what your enemy is when you see it. I'll try to keep an eye on this place, but I have to help outside. Your safety is as much in your own hands as anyone else's."

  "We'll be alright," Linda called out, but she could not hide the look of concern for herself, for those around her, or for Ryson.

  He nodded, opened the door, and leapt outside. The door shut behind him.

  Once clear of the front of the tavern, Ryson crouched and surveyed the area. He quickly located a dark spot near a corner alley away from any lamp post. He moved to it in a heartbeat where he could use his night vision to assess the raid.

  At the center of town and toward the east, the lamp lights remained lit, but many others at the western edge of town were now out. Darkness seemed to swallow an entire section of buildings. Shouts of the guard were replaced with shrieks of pain. Soon silence enveloped the area as much as the growing darknes
s. Shrouded rustling was now the only sound he could detect in that direction.

  Orders of other guards could still be heard at the opposite side of town. They were moving closer to confront the sizable band of invaders, but they were moving slowly, cautiously.

  Another light to the west was extinguished. The goblins were quite aware that the guards would have difficulty seeing in the dark. They were extinguishing the lamp lights systematically, probably sending out forward observers to handle the task while groups of others hid in the shadows with crossbows loaded.

  Ryson gave another heed to the slowly approaching guard. He gauged their distance and speed and compared it to the closing edge of the darkness. The goblins would reach the inn before the guard. They would see the fire within and move to extinguish it.

  Ryson bit down hard on his lip, almost drawing blood. He looked down at the sword, the hilt still in his grasp. "It'll give off a beacon every goblin within the town will see," he grumbled. His hand released the handle and shot into his bag. He pulled out a rope and his knife. The knife went into its familiar spot between his teeth. The rope stayed in his hand. He darted towards the darkness.

  With great care, the delver set about his initial task of locating the closest goblins, the ones responsible for extinguishing the lamp lights. He spotted them quickly after but four blocks. They moved with precision as they extinguished one lamp light after another. Moving in pairs, they climbed the posts using themselves as ladders. They were nothing if not efficient in this task, but they also seemed most absorbed by it. Their focus fixed solidly on this single objective and they paid little attention to anything else going on around them.

  Moving within the shadows, staying out of any light, Ryson used his superior vision to pick and choose a path that led him around the lead goblins. Ryson passed them with ease, noting their single-mindedness of purpose. He wondered if any goblin could carry out more than one task at a time.

  Once beyond the border of light and dark, Ryson moved with greater care. He sniffed the air, listened to the late night breeze before venturing around a corner or passing an intersection of roads. In but a few steps, he located a secondary group of foes, a handful of goblins a block behind the point.

  He counted four, crouching in the darkness at the side of the road. They waited impatiently for the lead goblins to accomplish their tasks before they would venture forward. These creatures used the vanishing light as their cue. Their crossbows draped across their arms in firing position, they moved in concert. They noted movements in darkened buildings, obviously frightened townsfolk trapped in their homes that darkened their own lights hoping to be overlooked. For now, the goblins passed them. It was their mission to eliminate the guards first. If there was time, they would return to take care of the helpless and unarmed.

  Ryson let the goblins pass before taking a position directly behind them. He stopped when they stopped, waited when they waited. When they moved again, he was on them.

  The rope he held was short, but long enough for him to wrap around three before they even knew he was there. He pulled on it, hard. All three fell to the ground. Their cross bows dropped from their hands. One went off when it hit the ground. The short bolt sliced the air but harmlessly plunged into the side of a building. The other two remained cocked, but the bolts fell out of their firing position.

  Ryson took both ends of the rope in one hand and held firmly as he set upon the fourth goblin. The rope pulled and dragged the first three, keeping them off balance and helpless. Their groaning alerted the only free goblin within their midst. It turned to face its attacker, but its crossbow was knocked from its hands by a swift kick before it even saw Ryson's face.

  The dagger stayed in Ryson's teeth as his free hand slashed through the air to the goblins belt. He had the handle of the short sword before the goblin moved its arm. Showing only slight compassion, Ryson swung the flat part of the blade down upon the goblins head. It struck with a resounding thud, but made no cut in the scalp. The creature would live, but hopefully within the confinement of a cell and under the watchful eyes of the town guard.

  Ryson turned to the other three and knocked them upon their heads equally as hard. Only one was able to draw his sword in time, but the goblin was no match for the delver's speed and agility.

  Ryson turned an ear to the heavy darkness off to the west. The clamor of the scuffle obviously alerted a larger party of goblins. He could hear them moving up fast, probably expecting to meet with the main body of the human guard.

  For now, the delver ignored them. He spun towards the goblins at the point who were now working on yet another lamp. They were too busy to notice what was going on behind them. Ryson ran toward them at top speed. The short sword remained in his hand just as the dagger remained in his clenched teeth.

  One was leaning against the post standing on the other's shoulders when he reached them. He grabbed the higher goblin in one hand and tossed him like a handful of hay. It hit the ground in a heap, rolled over with a groan, then went silent.

  With glaring eyes Ryson brandished the newly acquired short sword at the second goblin's throat.

  The goblin backed against the post. Its small puffy hands seemed to tremble in indecision.

  With his free hand, Ryson took the dagger from his teeth. With a weapon in both hands, he stood menacingly over the creature, ready to strike with both blades.

  "Don't!" he growled and pointed with his eyes to the sheathed sword at the goblin’s waist. "Call a retreat," he ordered again.

  The goblin did not move.

  Ryson instantly recalled his first encounter with goblins. He remembered how the mention of his name appeared to stir a reaction as well as compliance from that goblin, and he spoke with blood-boiling anger. "My name is Ryson Acumen. I'm a delver and you won't escape. I'll see to that."

  The goblins eyes widened ever so slightly. He looked down the road toward the approaching goblins. They were barely in sight and moving too slow for his liking.

  "You will let me go if I do, yes?" the goblin demanded with as much fear as loathing.

  Ryson bit back his growing anger. "You, yes. That is if you call for the retreat right now. The other one and the four back there are my prisoners. Now call retreat or you won't be so lucky!"

  Without hesitation, the goblin opened its mouth and called out with strange, unintelligible words.

  Ryson kept his attention upon the goblin in front of him but listened for obvious signs of retreat to the rear. Whatever the goblin said, it clearly sent the desired message. Ryson heard the distinguishable sounds of scurrying feet. The goblins were moving away fast, out of the town.

  "Now you must let me go," the goblin demanded with a nervous watch upon the two blades which continued to threaten him.

  Ryson sensed the swirling emotions in the goblin. The fear for its own near worthless life, its lackluster indifference to those it helped kill, and its bubbling desire to strike out against the delver. All such sentiment was as clear to the Ryson as if it were carved in the goblin's breast plate. While it did not reach for its sword now, instead waited for the promised release, it was clear that the goblin would return with malicious intentions.

  Ryson thought of the town and Linda. They were lucky he was here this night, but he would be gone in the morning and unable to protect them. If the goblins returned, many more would probably die, maybe even Linda.

  If he stayed, the Sword of Decree would stay with him. Again, his vow to Mappel echoed in his ear, this time it mocked him. He had done all that was asked of him. He assisted Lief in reaching Sanctum and helped bring Shayed's word to Mappel. Even now, the algors were probably reaching Connel. He need only return this blasted weapon which he did not want in the first place. It was all that required his departure from Burbon, but he could not ignore it. He had to leave, yet he had to protect this town as well.

  Ryson turned one option over in his mind. He needed to convince the goblins that Burbon was not a wor
thy target for their ill-will, and he had a messenger before him. He stared deeply into the swollen face of the goblin.

  "Before I let you go, I want to know your name."

  The goblin sneered, but could not help recoil from the delver's searching stare. It responded with a whining protest. "That was not part of the deal."

  Ryson shook his head and exhaled heavily. "That's alright. You don't have to tell me anything. I know your scent now. I'd be able to find you again if I had to look through a hundred goblins. But I want you to know that I'll be watching this town. If anything happens to it, I'm coming after you and you will answer to me. Understand?"

  The goblin only spat.

  With the swiftest of strikes, he smacked the goblin on the shoulder with the dull edge of the short sword. The motion was so quick it defied the goblin's vision. It was meant to punctuate Ryson's own intentions, to prove his words were no idle boast. "Remember what I said. I'm a delver and I will find you."

  The goblin’s expression turned to sullen concern and Ryson believed his words had found their mark in the goblin's cowardly spirit.

  "Move!" Ryson shouted. "Or draw your sword. Take your pick."

  The goblin chose the former and sped off into the night.

  Ryson watched with grim satisfaction. He truly doubted this goblin would return, and he could only hope it would convince any others to avoid Burbon as well.

  He allowed the fleeing goblin a few moments before addressing other important matters. He lifted the fallen goblin off the ground and brought it to the other four that remained unconscious in the road. He tied them all together before leaving them.

  With the town still dark, he took the time to make a careful reconnaissance of every street and every alley in the western part of town. He found the tracks of the goblins and followed them to ensure they had all left town. None remained. They did, however, leave their mark.

  Ryson found the bodies of eight guards scattered about the streets and alleys that remained in darkness. None were left alive, though most probably died in slow agony. The short arrows were not shot to kill immediately. They plunged into the stomach, the upper shoulders, the thighs and the back. One had as many as a dozen riddled among his limbs.

  Ryson again remembered Lief's words regarding the goblins and his distaste for them. The elf had warned Ryson that the goblin cared little for the sanctity of life, would not care for the life of a delver, or apparently a human. The proof was all around him. He threw the short sword to the ground and finished his reconnaissance.

  Satisfied that the immediate danger had ended, the delver returned to the captured goblins, finding them surrounded by a half dozen guards. Many of the lamps were being relit and Ryson saw them clearly as he approached.

  The guards wore minimal armor and carried spears just as those that stopped him that same afternoon. One, however, wore a long sword at his side and a vest of red cloth over his chest plate.

  Upon noticing Ryson stepping forward, the guards turned and held their spears with menace. The man with the sword, though, merely cast a suspicious glance. He called out with a commanding tone.

  "Are you responsible for this?" the question boomed out across the silence.

  "I am," Ryson stated simply and continued walking forward as if the spears meant nothing to him.

  "And what of the creatures responsible for the raid?"

  "They're called goblins and they're gone," Ryson replied flatly. He walked past more than one guard, considering them nothing more than gnats buzzing around his ear.

  "Stand down your arms!" came an order from the red vested soldier to which the guards reluctantly adhered.

  "You're the captain?" Ryson asked as he now stood in front of him.

  "I am. Who might you be?"

  "Ryson Acumen."

  The captain nodded and looked to the sword which remained sheathed at Ryson's side. "I was told of your arrival. You're the stranger from Connel. Tell me what happened here?"

  Ryson treated the command as more of a casual request and responded in kind. "Your men told me this afternoon that they might need my help. I heard the commotion and simply did what they asked."

  The captain shook his head slowly but succinctly. "That's not what I mean and you know it. I want to know how you were able to capture these goblins and thwart their attack."

  "I'm a delver," Ryson admitted. "I was able to sneak up on the forward attackers before they saw or heard me. I took them out and forced one to call the retreat."

  "Any reason why you didn't reveal that little secret to the guards this afternoon? If you did, I would've known about it." The captain did not hide his annoyance with this simple fact.

  Ryson revealed his own irritation, which was of a greater degree than that of the captain's. "And what would you have done if I did tell them?"

  "I would have wanted to see you."

  "And you would have asked a lot of questions, kept me under wraps until you could figure out what to do with me. Isn't that right?" The delver's words snapped from his mouth. It was the tongue lashing he wanted to give to the guard that blocked his passage earlier that day. He had found the man in charge, the man ultimately responsible for the stationed guard, and he bore into him. "You probably would have kept me locked up until you could ask all your mindless questions. Well if I allowed that, I wouldn't have been able to save you the way I did. You would have all walked right into annihilation."

  "Don't tell me what I would and wouldn't do!" the captain started angrily, but Ryson wouldn't let him finish.

  "I'm not going to argue with you," Ryson flashed. "You and I both know what would have happened. Just be grateful it didn't. You have eight comrades dead back there. I kept there from being more. Now I've given you four prisoners to question, that should help you learn how to protect yourselves from these things. And by Godson you better learn. I gave one of them a warning to leave this town alone. I told it I'd hold it responsible for anything that happened here. Well now, I'm telling you the same. These things won't go away just because you want them to. You have to do more than just carry around those stupid spears. Build walls and gates. Put guards in towers that are able to recognize when trouble's near."

  The captain's eyes blazed with fury. "You dare tell me how to protect this town. I have served in over ..."

  "I don't care what you've done in the past. I know it didn't help those eight men that are dead back there. Just remember what I said. I'm holding you responsible for the safety of this town. Now I've done more than my share, so I'm not going to stand here and waste time with you. I left some people at the Borderline Inn. I'm going back there now. If you want to join me and see what they say, that's your choice. But if you want to try and stop me, well good luck. I don't tire easily."

  He gave the captain a glaring stare of defiance before walking away. As he did, he called out one more time to him. "By the way, I'm staying for the night, but I'm leaving for Connel tomorrow. Don't even think about stopping me. I'll make you look bad."

  As Ryson turned back toward the inn, he reigned in his open hostility. He tried to force the unpleasantness of the evening from his mind. For the moment, the guards let him be. This allowed him a respite to clear the anger from his thoughts.

  As he reflected upon his own actions, he realized how ill-tempered he himself was becoming. The captain did nothing beyond his own duty and nothing to truly solicit Ryson's ire, yet Ryson was more than willing to apply a tongue lashing. He had found it satisfying, and that in itself seemed out of place for his usually good-natured character. Maybe it was his first encounter with the guard that brought out his hostilities. Maybe it was the tension created by the drastic changes in the land. Or perhaps the taint of evil in the magic was now reshaping itself to infect other races as well as the elves.

  With this unpleasant thought, Ryson wondered how the taint would eventually destroy them. Would the poison simply lead to slow agonizing illness and death, or would it bring in
sanity? Was this the start of a violent madness which would turn them against each other? He cursed the sphere, cursed the changes.